Three Colors Spell a Good Time
by Amberjunk
Summary: An American Holiday makes a day quite a whole other adventure for the League. Mostly centered on the father/son relationship btwn. Allan and Tom *YAY*
1. Chapter 1

**Three Colors Spell a Good Time**

**By: Amber**

Disclaimer: I don't own League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (LXG) but I guess borrowing it is good enough for now.

Special thanks to Sawyer Fan who has been my ongoing inspiration for this fic, and an idol throughout

Apparently, Skinner wasn't really helping. Sawyer's shoulders drooped even more. A paint-flaked hand was about to settle on the young man's shoulder, but retreated after a second's thought. Allan sighed. Most of the League's members had attempted to liven up the boy's mood, with the exception of Dorian and himself. Then again, Allan's had expressively threatened Dorian to stay away from Sawyer at a time like this. So, there was Allan, about to do what he had initially intended before an impromptu queue had formed for Sawyer's sake.

The older man casually approached his surrogate son, looking from the boy to the setting sun and then back to the boy before he knew what to say.

"It's not too late, lad," he tried, opting for an encouraging tone.

The younger man leaned further onto the rail, arms tightening their fold across a wind-cooled shirt. Allan surmised that this opening statement had been used sometime before when the others had tried their luck. A stronger effort was required here.

"We'll be landing at port soon enough," Allan tried again. "You forget that the Nautilus isn't just any old ship. The weather's cleared up, no more errands or missions to run on the way…" Allan tilted his head to meet Tom's gaze, but the boy angled his own face away. The hunter pulled back, shoulders righted and tense. The lad had no right to sulk! Maybe Allan should compare this situation to the time he wanted to hurry from Africa to reach Tom. Now, _that_ had been a matter of urgency; this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Still…

Allan's gaze softened as he noticed Tom's head bow slightly, bangs obscuring the downcast face. The date, the trip – it all meant a lot to the American agent. In hindsight, Allan realized he shouldn't have promised the success of this outing and raised the lad's hopes. No rest for the wicked, therefore, no rest for the League. But one pleading look from Sawyer had made an idealist out of Quatermain too. Now if only the same worked on criminals across the world, and the League's royal and presidential employers. Instead, Sawyer's original plans were four hours behind schedule. They would surely not make it in time for the main event, although the hunter had lost taste for light shows after the Venice incident.

"There's more to this day other than fireworks, isn't there lad?" The older man stood next to Sawyer, his back to the rails. He waited to see if his words had the desired effect. Finally, hazel eyes looked back up at him, except they weren't filled with reassurance. Tom mirrored the hunter's posture, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Thing is – "

And just as abruptly as the agent ended that sentence, his demeanor followed in uniform contrast to the prior glum. At this point Tom had no problem turning towards Allan, hazel eyes loyally cuing the momentum that was building in the youth.

"Yeah, that's right," Tom spoke with awe-founded clarity. "We could have a whole day over there and I could show you guys the ropes!"

Allan had meant to convince the boy that their delay or their more probable absence for the holiday's event could be compensated in one way or another. But now, the prospect was being manipulated. The League's leader was still stuck on the very suggestion of a 'whole day' when he realized the lad was still talking.

"…and like you said, it doesn't look like we're gonna be busy. We might as well – " This time an epiphany wasn't what stopped Tom's train of thought – rather, it was the hand on his shoulder and the level set of dark, brown eyes expressing the familiar hue of fondness and exasperation.

"It's not that easy, son," Allan started, preparing to ease the blow. "The President may have something for us yet. We don't know about tomorrow's plans."

"And if we _do_ get tomorrow off?" The young agent's sails were still billowing with wind.

Allan reluctantly pushed forward with his own doubt. "We'd still need to discuss it with everyone else and see if they want to port in Virginia an extra day."

"But Virginia's not all _that _bad," Tom protested, drawing a quick smile from Quatermain. "An extra day would'n kill anyone either. And even though we're a day late, there'll still be plenty of fairs n' attractions around." When he saw that Allan still didn't look convinced, Tom resorted to his cheapest trick before his surrogate father could think of another way to say 'no.'

The hunter could already sense the gesture that, under these circumstances with Sawyer, bore a quasi equivalence to a tug on a parent's sleeve. Sure enough, when Quatermain glanced to his side, the puppy eyes shone in full effect. He inwardly sighed and groaned – it seemed this week was not starting well, as far as his authoritative conviction went.

"Now, Thomas – "

"Allan," the boy interrupted, "_please_."

Yep, the sap was seeping in.

"Lad, there are no promises," Allan said seriously. "… But I'll see what I can do and we can talk to the others about this before we dock."

Tom grinned, already having faith in the offer. Somewhat abashedly, realizing that the hunter really did go to great lengths for him, he put his hands in his pockets again and gazed at his mentor through his fringes.

"Thanks Allan. It means a lot to me."

Reaching out a hand and ruffling the scruffy locks, Allan gave a short laugh. "I can really tell, my boy. I just hope America appreciates all this patriotism on your part." With that, he told Tom he might as well try contacting the President right away and moved to the door.

Once the metal door clanged shut, and Tom was alone again, he leaned against the rails to watch the sunset again. Only, unlike his posture from before, this time his shoulders fell slack with relaxation and contentedness. After a short moment, the sun completely hid below the horizon and the breeze carried with it more of a chill. Even then, he stayed at the rail, enjoying his mental checklist of events planned for the next day.

'_Not so much patriotism as much as something I can share with you guys – my team, my family…'_

"Thomas!" was suddenly heard echoing from the shaft just beyond the door. "It's nightfall, you know what that means. The stars come out, you come in."

Pushing off of the rails and towards the door, Tom headed to his 'Dad,' conjuring a wish list along with his checklist.

He wished good news awaited him under deck, and he _really _wished Allan would stop calling him 'Thomas' like that when all of Nemo's crew could hear them. Then again, sometimes the condescension meant the hunter was in a good mood.

His gut was telling him that for this year July 5th would amount to more than its preceding Day of Independence. Tom quickly pulled the latch, speculating with equal measures of annoyance and gratitude that whatever news Allan had for him, it would have to wait until the leader made sure he was warm and fed.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Pack Your Bags

**Chapter 2: Pack Your Bags!**

Tom's earlier predictions proved true – he was currently wearing an oversized coat that admittedly made him more comfortable past the token warmth. A certain kind of security enveloped him as surely as the apparel engulfed him in its overlapping layers. When a familiar, roughened hand pushed a plate of food further towards him, Tom immediately looked up with appreciation, but objected nonetheless.

"Are you sure it wouldn't be rude if I startin' eatin' before they all got here?" Tom asked, already feeling he had been selfish enough. His league-mates had taken turns to draw him out of his blue mood, and now Allan had called an early dinner/meeting to discuss what could be done about the trip. What if the others didn't want to go?

"We could both get second servings by the time they arrive, letting them think we waited. Then Mrs. Harker won't have to worry about the propriety of our dining etiquette," Allan lightly remarked, his fork-holding hand not hesitating over his own full plate. He gave an approving chuckle when he saw his protégé was convinced, and had already started stacking food between two bread slices.

"Still," Tom said between large bites, "I feel I owe them somethin' after having put up with me today."

Allan set his fork down. "No one was _putting up_ with you today, lad. We're a team, and they know you'd do the same for them. We did it before when Skinner wanted in on that gambling tournament, or when we went to those medical conferences because Mrs. Harker and Jekyll were interested. It's your turn now."

"Well, what about you?"

"I don't need to visit Africa anytime soon." Allan went back to his meal.

"No, I meant…" Tom chewed slower. "You're okay with this?"

"Well, I better be, since I talked to the President about it," the hunter huffed with humor. However, his comment seemed to deflate Tom somewhat. "Alright, enough of this moping. This isn't charity, lad. You can think of how convenient this will be for everyone."

"Convenient how?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Allan prompted warmly, drinking his coffee and raising a lofty eyebrow.

Tom knew this game – the one Allan invented so the boy would counter-argue his own doubts. Tom rolled his eyes at the ploy.

"Well, I guess they'll like the weather – plenty of buyin' and sellin.' I could definitely see Mina spending money, Dorian haggling to cheat someone into losing money. And Skinner," Tom laughed a bit, "he'd be excited to see so many pockets and purses in one place."

Allan grunted in response to the probable premonitions. He was glad to see the excitement stirring and building in Tom's voice again. The American had also gone back to eating greedily.

"But what good is the plannin' of it, if we're – "

"Going," Allan interjected. "Yes, Thomas, the President wished us a happy weekend – we're going."

"Really?" Tom nearly spat out his food. "As in, 100 percent sure? I mean, I get if there are emergencies, we'll have to go. But if he calls us over, wantin' a second opinion on whether or not his tie matches his socks…"

"Lad," Allan warned. "I'll remind you of three things…" He continued when Tom gave a contrite smile. "One – we _are _going. Two – the President doesn't intentionally waste our time. And three – your table manners are atrocious."

After an initial perk, then duck of his head in accordance with the first two items of Allan's list, Tom coincidentally stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth as Allan said the third.

The hunter sighed dramatically. "I really think you need lessons on this sort of thing. Maybe Dorian is the man for the job."

A lazy glare parried Allan's jab, a stuffed mouth too busy to come up with a proper retort. The older man couldn't help but think the young man had a rather childishly endearing expression at the moment. It helped that above all, the hazel eyes were lit up with nothing but excitement now that Allan confirmed the trip.

Suddenly, Tom jolted and started coughing on his food.

"Sorry there chum," a chipper voice came from behind Tom. "It was just a congratulatory slap on the back, supposing we have good news in store – didn't know you were full of food."

"Skinner!" came the irritated growl, followed by the hunter's rise out of his chair. Moving to an adjacent table, Allan carelessly swiped an old coat off the top and tossed it roughly until a muffled _ow_ signaled the thief had 'caught' the item.

Allan rounded the table to face Skinner. "And where is everybody, exactly? I thought the announcement of a vacation would be something worth having tea over…"

"Vacation? I thought so." Tugs at the coat stopped altogether. He looked over at Tom, glad that the young man got his wish. Skinner smiled when he also noticed the agent's coughing had subsided, with the aid of unconscious pats on the hunter's behalf. In fact, Allan was grumbling to himself and looking at his watch, his other hand still soothingly attending the American.

"Yeah, but you should all get to vote," Tom finally vocalized, looking over his shoulder at him.

"Don't know, mate," Skinner ambled to a chair and plopped down. "With ol' Quatermain running the show, I don't think I have any democratic rights left."

"You'll be cut off from your _human_ rights soon enough, Skinner."

Before the thief could make a snappy comeback, the other four members arrived, sporting expressions ranging from annoyance to piqued curiosity. Allan, one arm poised over Tom's tall backrest, grinned at the assembled group.

"Well, everybody – pack your bags, we're going to Virginia for the weekend."

Tom gave a sigh of relief at the lack of protest. Even more, the group seemed to relax at the news; Dorian had a 'well, whatever' look, but that was honestly more than Tom had expected. He felt a familiar hand lean down from above to tousle his hair in its own congratulatory fashion. Much gentler than Skinner.

"I have to hand it to Quatermain." The uncomfortable coat was surreptitiously disposed of. "He knows how to make orders sound pleasant."

TBC…


End file.
